Valentine's Day
by morganaoflocksley
Summary: so... it's Valentine's Day... and I thought I'd write a story. Claire gets something.


Claire knew how it could have gone. How it would have gone, if they were just normal people. If they had been two normal individual human beings, not wrapped up in a world of secrecy and concealment, they could have had something. They definitely _would_ have had something.

Today was Valentine's Day, and it hurt. Not because she didn't have anyone, which was true, but didn't really matter that much. How many other women were spending their Valentine's Days alone? It was because she knew she'd never be able to stand the one person she did want. Which made more sense when she didn't try to put it into words.

It was Topher. It had always been Topher, and she had always loved him. Maybe it was an accident, maybe he had subconsciously put something into her imprint, and she wouldn't have loved him.

That was what hurt the most. That maybe he'd subconsciously imprinted her wrong. If that was so, there was only one logical conclusion. He'd loved the before-her, the not-Whiskey-not-Claire-other her. She couldn't stand it.

On the other hand, maybe she loved him. Maybe it was one of her basic instincts. She wasn't sure which of these options she disliked more, because instinct also belonged to the other her. The one who owned the body.

But that wasn't fair. She owned the body now. Whoever had it before her had wanted to be gone, at least for a while. And they would never know. So what was the harm in her keeping it?

The fact remained that it was Valentines Day, and she loved Topher, and she couldn't do anything about it, because it was unacceptable and inappropriate and wrong.

As she finished Juliet's checkup, she sighed. It was the first time she'd let herself express her feelings all day. She wanted to curl up on her bed and cry.

"Are you alright, Dr. Saunders?" Juliet was particularly emotionally insightful for an Active, sometimes to the point of aggravation. But she was still a Doll, and she could still be fooled easily.

"I'm fine, Juliet. Why don't you go and have a quick swim in the pool before dinner?"

"We're having lasagne tonight. Lasagne is delicious." She walked dreamily out of the room, and Claire was left to her feelings once more.

She couldn't deal with being around anyone else tonight, not even Actives. She wasn't hungry anyway, so she decided to skip dinner and go straight to sleep. She had reports to compile in the morning, anyway, so she had to be up early.

As she crept into her dark room, a shape caught her eye. She normally didn't bother to turn the lights on, as she knew by instinct exactly how far it was to her bed. She turned on the light.

Sitting on the top of her dresser was a bunch of flowers. She crossed the room and picked them up. Underneath was a letter. She opened it.

_Claire,_

_ I don't know what to say. I don't know how to act. You can tell how I feel about you. I know I shouldn't, especially after what you've been through, what you know._

_ I love you._

_ Topher_

Valentine's Day. It was all wrong. She knew how it should have gone. He would take her to a nice restaurant, they would talk about how consumerism was taking over the world and they shouldn't really be celebrating. They'd walk along the street in the night air, and he'd invite her back to his place. They'd just sit on his bed and watch some soppy movie that was on especially for Valentine's Day. And they'd wake up the next morning in each other's arms. _That's_ when they would make love. And the next day, they would go back to work, giggling at each other, trying not to be found out by Adelle, who, of course, would have known from the moment they came in that morning.

If they were normal people with normal jobs, that's what would have happened. If she didn't detest his smell, if she didn't live at the Dollhouse, if she didn't know about her past.

But they weren't, and she did. And she knew that a _them_ would never happen. So she smelled the flowers. They weren't roses, they were freesias. Her favourite. Of course Topher knew that. She wished he didn't.


End file.
